


golden branch, jade leaf

by karasunotsubasa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Sex, Arguing, M/M, Making Up, Smut, but so does chris even tho he doesn't show it, everything is fluffy like a bunny's ass in the end, phichit chulanont has a temper and we all know it, questions of style and good taste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 18:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunotsubasa/pseuds/karasunotsubasa
Summary: "Darling, we really need to talk about your taste," Chris adds, and that is the last straw.Phichit rears his head fast and hard, like a horse that's about to trample up a body into a bloody mess."Yeah, we clearly do, because I'm dating you," he spits. "What would I know about taste?"





	golden branch, jade leaf

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for a title for this fic and found [this:](http://quotes.bangmedia.org/2011/07/thai-proverbs-i.html)
> 
> * กิ่งทองใบหยก  
> o Transliteration: Ging tong by yok  
> o Literal: A gold branch with a jade leaf.  
> o Meaning: A perfect couple (often use with the fiancees; in Chinese it means a princess).
> 
> and it just hit me that's the most perfect way to describe phichimetti like EVER //prayer hands  
> in other words, please enjoy!

 

 

 

"This one looks nice," Phichit says from where he's sprawled over Chris' back and looking over his shoulder at the intricate picture of a sea glass vase Chris has pulled up on his laptop.

"It's green," Chris replies as if that explains everything, and skips to the next one.

"So what? It's perfect! Go back," Phichit tells him and Chris' finger hits the back button with a click. The green vase is full screen again and Phichit gives a content hum. "Look at it. So pretty."

"They have nothing green in their flat, though. It's going to stand out too much," Chris says and skips back a few times to a blue vase they saw earlier. "Now, this one? That's perfect. And it matches Victor's eyes."

"But that will just blend in and become invisible," Phichit argues. "It's better to have some pop of colour to keep the life exciting, don't you think?"

He pokes Chris' cheek with a finger.

Trophée de France has just come to an end with a gold around Chris' neck and a bronze on Phichit, and they have found themselves locked in Chris' hotel room two hours before the banquet, desperately searching for a housewarming present for their best friends who are throwing a party in about a week – a day after the Rostelecom Cup. Time is of the essence, but as far as presents go it's obligatory that best friends need to give the best ones – that's just common sense.

It's also the source of their dilemma.

"Their apartment is in shades of white, light blue and gray," Chris insists, turning his head to Phichit. "It'd be just as bad as wanting to give them a red one. It'll clash with everything, and Victor will put it in the basement, and we'll have wasted the money and effort on it."

"Are you insinuating I have no sense of style?" Phichit asks. He lifts off Chris' back and looks down at him through narrowed eyes. "That I can't pick a gift both useful _and_ pretty for my best friend's housewarming party?"

"You said it, not me," Chris says as he turns back to the screen. It's not really an disagreement against what Phichit has said, which has Phichit's dark eyes only darken more in the anger that begins to simmer in his veins. "But look, Yuuri's favourite colour is blue, isn't it? It'd be nicer to get it in blue."

"Just because he likes blue doesn't mean he wants to have _everything_ in blue. Oh my god, are you a child?" Phichit gives an annoyed huff. He gets off the bed, walks around it and takes his bag of toiletries out of his suitcase just to have something to do with the nasty energy suddenly coursing through his body. "There _is_ such a thing as knowing when too much is too much, you know. Going matchy matchy isn't always a good thing."

"So, according to you, a green vase in a predominantly gray, white and _blue_ -toned space isn't too much?"

Chris lifts an eyebrow at Phichit, ridiculously calm and collected, as if he knows he is right and he's only waiting for Phichit to blow up. It only serves to have Phichit's jaw clench to hold back a snarky response. He doesn't want to argue, he doesn't want to–

"Darling, we really need to talk about your taste," Chris adds, and that is the last straw.

Phichit rears his head fast and hard, like a horse that's about to trample up a body into a bloody mess.

"Yeah, we clearly do, because I'm dating you," he spits. "What would I know about taste?"

Chris looks stricken for one precious second, during which Phichit bathes in momentary triumph. The feeling goes away as soon as Chris' face darkens, though. He sits up on the bed with a scowl that means business, and for a brief second Phichit regrets his words. But as soon as Chris opens his mouth again, all thoughts of regret fly out of Phichit's head.

"Are we resorting to insults now?" Chris asks, poised calm that is a front and a lie, and they both know it.

"You started it," Phichit bites back.

" _I_ started it?" Chris asks, incredulous. "You called me a child!"

"And you said I have no sense of style!" Phichit points out, jabbing a finger in Chris' general direction. "Or taste! How is that _not_ starting it?"

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it," Chris defends. "Don't put meaning behind my words that I didn't put there myself."

"Well, that's how I heard it," Phichit says and it comes out far more aggressive than he means.

Chris' mouth sets in a firm line and Phichit can clearly see the moment his teeth bite down on the words he wants to speak, because a muscle jumps in Chris' jaw in a manner that is oddly endearing, and doubly as hot. The air around them gets warmer, but it isn't just warmth – it's passion, and fire, and heat of attraction that Phichit can't deny he feels when he looks at Chris' stone-hard anger.

"Just because you think you heard me say something, doesn't mean I actually said it," Chris says then, voice dripping deadly quiet.

He's one of those people who go cold in their rage instead of becoming the centre of the solar flare outbursts, like Phichit himself is prone to. And it shows. It shows, because the calm on Chris' face awakens something in Phichit, brings his blood to a boil.

"I don't _think_ I heard you, I _did_ hear you. Because you said it! Don't deny it now!"

"Well I didn't mean it how you understood it, then," Chris presses once again. "And you'd know it, if you only thought about it before speaking."

There's a thrum in Phichit's veins, a buzz under his skin. He needs to move, spend this weird energy in a healthy way, or he'll do something he's going to regret. Like punch a wall and wear a cast for the unforeseeable future, or worse – kick the bed and sprain his toes or ankle or both, and fuck up his skating for the next weeks, which were crucial if he wanted to get to the Grand Prix Final.

Without thinking much more, he snaps into action and walks away from the bed.

"Where are you going?"

Chris scrambles off the bed to follow him and Phichit turns only to tell him that he can't be here anymore if he wants to be whole and keep skating, but all words freeze on his tongue when he meets Chris' gaze.

Green isn't usually a very cold colour, but when Phichit looks into Chris' eyes then, it might as well be. He looks... he looks...

Phichit takes a breath, but the words slip out of his mouth before he can even think about it.

"Fuck, you look so hot when I'm angry at you."

Chris doesn't look surprised at it at all, which makes Phichit think he must have been thinking something similar, but he can't really focus on Chris' motivations anymore. The way Chris' curls sweep across his forehead... his arms uncross from his chest showing off his strong shoulders and biceps... his jaw muscles move when he forcibly unclenches his teeth... Phichit's mind is in the gutter and falls, falls hard to the very bottom of it without any chance of salvation.

Chris walks up to him with quick decisive steps and grabs the back of Phichit's head none too gently to bring his face up. His eyes are still glazed with ice and it is a thrill that Phichit never expected to feel.

"We're going to talk about this later," Chris says in a tone that allows for no arguments.

Phichit doesn't reply, not that would if he could, the lexicon of his vocabulary narrows down to 'fuck', 'he's hot', 'ah shit', and 'I want him' and it's all that seems to be running through his mind then and there. With his tongue tied, he can't say much, but words (or the lack thereof) have never stopped Phichit Chulanont from doing what he wanted, and so he does it once more – he lifts onto the tips of his toes and presses his mouth hard against Chris', who doesn't need to be invited twice and drags him back to the bed.

There's nothing gentle about it: they tear the clothes off each other, pull on collars and waistbands, bite into skin where the lips miss. Phichit hears his shirt rip somewhere along the hem when Chris tugs on it to pull him into another kiss, but he can't care. His own finger catches in a zipper of Chris' jeans and he gives a little hiss that Chris swallows with his mouth firmly pressed to Phichit's.

They're tired from skating, yes, a burn of overworked muscles is a constant reminder with every single move they make, but the heat that crawls over their skin is more pressing, more insistent, and when they give into it, it's not difficult to forget about the other aches of their body and give into one – the ache of being joined into one.

On all fours, Phichit pants into the sheets while Chris' teeth mark the back of his neck and down his shoulders. The heavy press of the erection that is so close to being in him, but _still not there_ is driving him mad.

"Fuck me already," Phichit nearly growls. He needs it. The release, the outlet for the energy that has built up in his body.

He bucks against Chris and the dark growl he gets in return sets him on fire all over again. Chris's arm slides around his hips and the thick girth rubs between his ass cheeks, but it's only more of the same teasing.

"Chris–" Phichit warns, but his voice is gone with a gasp when Chris' hand grips his length and squeezes.

Stars burst along Phichit's vision, but the heavy heat that pulses between his legs keeps him from drifting into space. He's grounded by the steady jerking of Chris' wrist, yet it's not enough. He bites his lip, groaning in frustration at the back of his throat.

"Fuck me," he grits out. He tries to buck into Chris' dick again, but Chris' free hand bites into his hip so hard, Phichit is sure it'll bruise. _Good._ "Chris, you fucking cocktease, if you don't fuck me this instant I'm getting dressed and leaving, and you can die of blueballs for all I care."

He throws a glare over his shoulder, but it helps him none. Chris looks down at him with a dark look in his eyes that are no less cold than they were before.

"At least they'd be blue, not green," he says.

Phichit forgets to breathe when he registers that _Christophe Giacometti_ is talking about _a fucking vase_ while _his dick is rubbing against Phichit's balls_ , and he gives an angry snarl. He shifts with the intension of getting up, but Chris' big hand pushes between his shoulder blades and Phichit lands with his face in the sheets instead. He glares up at Chris, who braces his hand next to Phichit's head after tangling his fingers in his hair. The pull of it hurts Phichit's neck, but he says nothing about it, because Chris thrusts his hips and his dick slips between Phichit's thighs.

It's a little raw, a bit uncomfortable, since there is nothing to lessen the friction of skin on skin, but it's still feels good. Too good to consider the consequences.

"Squeeze your legs, damnit," Chris pants above him, and Phichit follows the order – not because he was told to, but because Chris' cold mask breaks when he clenches his thighs around his dick. " _Merde_..."

Merde is right, Phichit thinks while Chris' dick rubs against his balls with each thrust. Chris' other hand that stilled on Phichit's own dick before now tightens again and the warmth and pressure feel heavenly along with the hard ramming of Chris' hips. Phichit's close to release, he can feel the telling warmth that grows in his abdomen, but Chris' groans grow in volume too, so he's sure he isn't far off himself.

It's now or never, he thinks, when a brilliant idea comes to his mind.

"Whoever comes first loses," he challenges between moans.

Chris' eyes glean over for a brief second, and then he bites: "Fine."

With even more vigour, Chris rams into Phichit while his hand begins to work his dick once more, and it feels like too much, too soon, like he's going to lose for sure, but Phichit clenches his teeth and his ass, and the muscles in highs thighs bunch up into a hardness that makes Chris mewl. He bows over Phichit and comes with a cry that he muffles by biting into Phichit's shoulder.

Phichit yelps, but it rolls into a moan when Chris' hand unconsciously squeezes his dick, and it sends him over the edge as well.

They slump together afterwards, spent and panting, but they refuse to look at each other. Sex between them was never awkward, not even when they were drunk enough to fumble with zippers and miss kisses by a mile. Now, however, it's more than awkward; it's tense and heavy and Phichit hates it.

"Let's take the blue one," he says finally when the quiet begins to chill his skin enough to shiver.

Chris huffs out a breath, which sounds like it contains the remainder of his resistance.

"No, it's fine," Chris says. "I lost, so we'll get the green one."

Phichit turns to look at him, but Chris is avoiding his gaze. He's facing the ceiling while his chest heaves heavy breaths, still. The fight drains out of Phichit's bones along with the last warmth of the orgasm, and he sighs before sitting up on one elbow. He gently reaches for Chris' cheek

"I'm sorry I said all of that," he says. "I just... I wanted the green one because it reminded me of your eyes."

Said eyes widen now, and then return to normal, yet not fully: they're softer now, warmer, and Phichit feels a bit silly about not admitting to it before everything went out of control.

"You should've told me that sooner," Chris says back.

Phichit only gives him a sheepish smile. He doesn't get to apologize again, because it's Chris' turn, apparently.

"I'm sorry, too," Chris says. He takes Phichit's hand and kisses the centre of his palm. "I shouldn't have said all of that either. You have fabulous taste and I never meant to insult it."

Phichit narrows his eyes at him. "Are you saying that now because I complimented your eyes or do you really mean it?"

The little smile that curls at the corner of Chris' mouth is both adorable and teasing, and Phichit slaps a hand over it with a groan.

"You're awful," he complains.

"Mmmphm," Chris says into his palm and Phichit tentatively pulls back his hand to allow him to repeat himself: "I love you, too."

Phichit slams his hand back down before he fluidly rolls off the bed. With his back to Chris he can hide his blush, but he can't hide the happy beating of his heart from himself. It doesn't matter, though. Not because Chris doesn't care, but because a kiss is pressed to the small of Phichit's back and Chris' arms wrap around his waist from behind. Warm breath in the dip of his spine makes Phichit shiver.

"We're going to be late to the banquet if we don't shower right now," Phichit says.

Chris nuzzles his cheek against the bare expanse of Phichit's back. His stubble is a little scratchy against Phichit's skin, but it doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel bad at all. Actually, it feels rather nice...

Phichit takes a deep breath and steps out of Chris' arms.

"Shower. Now," Phichit says. He's by the bathroom door when he realizes Chris has not moved from the bed and he looks back. "You coming? Or should I find something else pretty and green to occupy myself with in there?"

Chris clicks away on the laptop for a second longer and then stands up and strolls over with a grace of someone who knows he's hot and the confidence of a guy who just got laid and was going to get some again soon. Phichit almost snorts.

He does snort when Chris stops next to him and cocks a hip out with an added eyebrow wiggle that makes it utterly impossible to stay serious.

"Ordered the vase," Chris says. "You can't expect a gold medallist working for free like that, so... what do I get for my hard work?"

"A face full of ass," Phichit replies, turns back and slaps a hand on his bare ass before he saunters into the bathroom.

He catches the gobsmacked look on Chris' face in the mirror right as it turns into delight, and he can't help his own laughter: they truly are a pair of dummies.

 

 

 

(Chris gets the promised face full of ass later that night when he eats Phichit out so devoutly that Phichit swears they need to argue more often, because if that is the treatment he gets out of it, then he's more than happy to suffer through a few minutes of being upset.)

 

 

 

(For that Chris makes him come two more times and by the time they falls asleep Phichit isn't so sure anymore.)

 

 

 

(Next morning he wakes up to Chris' mouth around his dick, milking him dry, and he's sure again... but then he realizes that truly, with Chris nothing ever is certain and that's what he loves about him the most: the uncertainty, the excitement and the adventure.)

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over a year ago and barely edited it but since there's a phichimetti zine coming up soon, I was like HECK and so here it is: finally posted  
> hope you enjoyed it! thanks for reading!


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